The Vigil
by shotgunhero
Summary: This is going to be a variable POV between the templar Cullen and the Amell female mage from Dragon Age: Origins about their "near romance", not sure how cannon that's going to be. What I have so far is how the future Warden and Cullen meet in the Chantry shortly after Cullen came to the tower, and some of his back story that I made up for flavor.
1. Chapter 1

Summary:

_This is going to be a variable POV between the templar Cullen and the Amell female mage from Dragon Age: Origins about their "near romance", not sure how cannon that's going to be. What I have so far is how the future Warden and Cullen meet in the Chantry shortly after Cullen came to the tower, and some of his back story that I made up for flavor. I've never written a fanfiction before, so I would appreciate your feedback, criticisms most of all. There's some certain parts that came off a little hokey, I think. Also, not sure what to title this, suggestions would be awesome. I'm just sort of attacking this as the inspiration strikes me._

_Plans for next "chapter" -Amell POV. Build some back story, talk about her unique talents as a mage. I'm thinking of making her Somniari (like Fenyriel from DA2) which was why she fled Kirkwall and could not be sheltered by her family. Some people might not like that idea._

* * *

_Ser Cullen_

The Chantry was cold. He hated the Vigil posting, but all Templars new to guarding the Circle of Magi were required to, for contemplation, or so the Knight-Commander had told him. More likely, it was because it was the most boring posting in the entire tower. Why in the Maker's name would anyone come to the Chantry in the middle of the night? His eyes lazily scanned the Chantry. The blue lights from the magical flames cast odd shadows on the marble. His gaze rested on the face of the statue of the Prophet Andraste. She met it with a cold glower. Could this be the same Andraste from the Chantry of his youth? As the minutes faded to hours, he could not help but remember the Chantry his mother had abandoned him to. His family had worked the ploughshare in the Bannorn for generations. It had been a year of near famine, and there was barely anything left after the Bann satisfied himself of their stores. He was twelve years old when his mother had taken him to the Chantry and left with a small bag of silver for her trouble. But he wasn't sad for the loss of his family, anymore. The Chantry became a place of learning and safety. It was under their kind and firm tutelage that he had found his calling in service to the Maker.

He remembered his own Vigil well, the night for which this posting was named. All the Templar recruits would spend a whole night's watch in the Chantry, in religious contemplation of their vows. He spent hours that night looking at the kind face of the wooden statue of the Prophet Andraste. The lights of the brazier had flickered across her face, reminding him of the motherly smile of Revered Mother Hannah. Here, though, was an altogether different atmosphere. This face looked down upon you as if to cast judgment, as if to remind you of those all-important words.

_Magic exists to serve man, never to rule him._

He, also, remembered the Mage children who were brought to the Chantry before their ultimate delivery to the Circle. They were isolated, and the recruits were constantly reminded of the dangers that apostates posed even as children. What he remembered most, though, was the fear that seemed to never leave their faces. Sometimes, they were left at the Chantry by their families, other times they had been taken, but their faces were always the same, regardless. It was an emotion that he could relate to. He had not chosen his path in life, and his first few months at the Chantry were difficult. He had tried to escape several times and was always recovered, and firmly reprimanded by the Revered Mother. He had felt sorry for them. They would only know the Chantry as a place of fear, not a sanctuary, as he had come to know it.

It was this recollection that called him to prayer. He approached the altar warily. He gazed up at Andraste and she returned it unflinchingly.

"In Andraste's name, I call on you, Oh Maker, to watch over your children, and all your creation. Bring us light in the darkness."

"So let it be," said a soft voice behind him. He awkwardly jumped to his feet, and instantly felt the fool, his face warm with embarrassment. Although, he could not explain why. Was a Templar not expected to venerate Andraste? Her turned to face her, to demand what business she could have at the Chantry in the dead of night.

It was then that he truly saw her. The blue light danced across her violet eyes, giving her a somber look. Her raven curls cascaded down her shoulders, shining in the magical light. His voice caught in his throat, and he simply stared.

For what seemed like an eternity there was only silence. Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, and forged ahead with his plan.

"Wh-what business do you have at the Chantry at this hour? The Revered Mother and the initiates have retired for the night. S-services will resume at dawn." He said quickly.

The girl was quiet for a time, looking at him calmly and slowly approached the altar. Her slippers silently slid across the smooth marble, her satin robes rippling as she walked. A fearful nervousness swelled in his throat.

"The same as you, I expect, Ser Templar," she said so softly; he had to strain to hear her above the silence of the Chantry.

"Cullen... M-My name is Cullen," he stammered, wanting desperately to break eye contact. By the Maker, he sounded like an absolute fool. He was supposed to command an air of authority. The girl's robes signified she was an apprentice, and was certainly not allowed outside the apprentice quarters at this time of night, but he could not find the words to make her leave. Instead he stood there, paralyzed, feeling more like a mouse than a fearsome Templar.

"Ser Cullen..." The girl paused thoughtfully, kneeling before the altar. "... Thank you." It was then he saw her tears, tiny rivulets glistening down her alabaster cheeks. All at once, the blush of embarrassment returned to his face. He realized he had not taken his eyes off the girl since he first saw her, drinking in her beauty, experiencing a greater rush than even the lyrium provided. He felt shamed, not only for his boldness, but also for his intrusion. He gently inclined his head, and as quietly as his armor allowed, returned to his post.

After what must have been hours of watching the apprentice pray, she stood, and turned towards the door. Cullen felt himself drawn to her and before he realized it, he stood before her. His eyes searching her face, and finding an expression he had never seen before. With almost any other Mage, it was equal parts resentment and anxiety. The way many of his brothers behaved, he did not begrudge them this. But hers was something different all together, a soft plaintive expression, but something else more urgent there, too, subsiding and reemerging, as if in time with the rhythmic dance of the shadows. It surely must be his imagination.

She swept down into a deep curtsy, her face hidden in the shadows. With an inspired boldness he had never before known, he reached for her chin, gently lifting her face into the light. She was ... captivating. A small smile flickered briefly across her small mouth. He released her, nervously. "You don't... have to do that."

"It is time to for me to leave." Cullen nodded, again feeling a fool. "I wanted to show my appreciation for your leniency, Ser Templar..." Again, the smile flickered across her lips. His heart lunged in his chest, like a frightened bird beating wildly against its cage. "... Ser Cullen." She started for the door.

His hand reached for her. "Wait... Your name..."

"Valeria Amell," was the last thing she said as she drifted silently down the hall, disappearing into the darkness of the tower as silently as she had arrived.

The Chantry again empty, Cullen shifted awkwardly in his armor. The creak of the steel echoed against the walls. The Chantry was somehow warmer than he had remembered it earlier.

* * *

_Valeria Amell_

It was always quiet in the tower the moment before dawn. It was a silence she relished. There was very few times where the tower offered this kind of solace. She traced her footsteps back to the apprentice quarters in the hushed darkness. She had grown accustomed to sneaking around the tower at night; she had a lot of practice in the six years she had lived here. There were more than a few mentors that found her grave demeanor strange, but what they found most unnerving was the ease at which she excelled during her lessons. Where other students seemed to struggle finding the energy to focus on their exercises, she achieved success with ease. At first Mentor Alinya gave her ample praise, but as she grew in her will and talent, her continued success was met with increasingly concerned looks. If she were seen now, the implications would be grave, and the consequences worse.

_Tranquility_. She shuddered at the thought. Her affinity for the Fade had always been a strong one. The thought of losing that connection was terrifying. They would never understand why she was not in her quarters. They would all assume the worst of her, the forbidden magic.

It was something else that was, in her mind, no less disconcerting, the nightmares that had always plagued her, even as a child. Each night, her dreams had been a cacophony of voices and visions, a thousand dreams blended into one. Voices calling out from beyond the Veil, crying out in anguish, one phrase repeatedly:

_Give shape to the Void_.

Ice seemed to sneak into her spine, but she could not shake the thoughts away. Not tonight. This was after all, why she was in Ferelden, why she had lost everything six years ago. She could remember that voyage as if the torrent of darkness could swallow her still. The sea raged around her, waves battering the ship, the screams of the other children, and her mother's frightened face illuminated by each flash of lightning. What came next was too much to bear, and she closed her eyes trying to smother her tears. She paused in the hall, trying to level her breath, when she saw him, First Enchanter Irving, walking towards her. She could only look on with fearful eyes, appraising his worried expression. _This is it_. She could almost feel the murky darkness fill her lungs.

"Apprentice Amell, so strange to see you haunting the halls at this hour. Walk with me, child. We have much to discuss." His voice creaked like the boughs of an old oak in a gentle breeze. Valeria had always admired the First Enchanter. His patience and praise had never waned through her years among the Mages, and it was through his gentle guidance that the Circle was a place of knowledge and safety for the people there. Although, many still complained of the Templars involvement, she had not been too young to remember the ominous presence of the Gallows in Kirkwall, the reason so many others had sacrificed so much just for her to flee here. Despite all this, he would do what had to be done to ensure the protection of the Circle, including the fate she assuredly looked forward to. She leveled her gaze, staring ahead calmly. The fear, all but gone, replaced by the heaviness of resignation. In a few moments, this would all be over. She would not know how to feel afraid anymore. The First Enchanter continued on. "You have been at the tower for many years now, and our mentors have spoke highly of your talent in the Arts. However, your nightly activities have not escaped my attention."

"I go to the Chantry, First Enchanter," Valeria replied hollowly.

"I know, child, and you are not required to explain yourself to me. I know what troubles you. You do not need to fear reprisal, from me least of all. Your ... talents, if I may call them such, will be of great worth to the Circle when you master them. Let us continue on. There has been something that I have been meaning to give you for awhile." The First Enchanter wore a knowing smile on his weathered face. Valeria's thoughts oscillated wildly between what special talents the First Enchanter could possibly be speaking of, and how in Thedas she was meant to master them. "All will be revealed in time. Come, now. It is here." Finally aware of her surroundings, Valeria realized that she was in the archive. She stared around in wonderment, curious about what secrets could be kept inside these dusty tomes. By the look of them, they could have existed here since before the days of the Tevinter Imperium. The First Enchanter located the book with ease and it floated into Valeria's hands, bathed in a purple light. The book was bound in a silver bark that caught the glow of the torches and sparkled like the stars. A relief of an ash tree was carved in the cover, painted white. "Iron bark, child. Though that is not what makes this book special. It is a Fereldan translation of the ancient elven Somniari. Now. Run along, child. You have much to wonder about, I imagine."

Valeria walked back to the apprentice quarters in shock and disbelief, the book held close to her chest. Not only had she just narrowly escaped a fate worse than death, she now carried with her a physical representation of her value to the Circle. _This is something to wonder about_. The torches were lit in the halls now, and people filtered in and out of lecture halls and libraries, discussing the day's business. As always the din of conversation was not enough to wrench her from her thoughts. She finally arrived to her bunk and wrapped the tome carefully up in a spare blanket and set it in the chest with her meager personal belongings. Exhausted, she unceremonioussly collapsed onto her bunk. She just needed a moment to digest all that had happened, maybe attempt to rationalize it. Her thoughts drifted back through the events of the night. She had been going to the Chantry every night for the last six years, and never once did she ever suspect that the First Enchanter knew. This night was different for a lot of reasons. First among them was the strange Templar at the Vigil. She had always waited until they had gone; they always gave up, eventually, but this one, this ... Ser Cullen. He lingered in her thoughts, as she drifted off.

Her consciousness emerged in a swirling menagerie of sights, smells, and sounds. It was a cyclone of dreams, pivoting around a center, her. It was like this every time she went to sleep, with greater and lesser degrees of intensity. Through years of experimentation, she had found it most tolerable when it was only her dreaming, then she wandered the dusty badlands of the Fade aimlessly. The voices were always there calling for the same thing. As a child, she had tried everything to silence them. Reasoning with them, begging them, demanding it, those creatures knew nothing of mercy.

At this hour of the day, there would be hardly anyone sleeping, just the Templars who had been on night duty, and perhaps a bored apprentice or two. They all came here to dream. She watched them all swirl around her occasionally seeing something tangible before it melted away into the madness. If this was the talent First Enchanter Irving had mentioned, his hopes were sadly misplaced in her, there was no way to control this madness. Valeria sighed deeply and sat down in the sand, grabbing a handful. The voices wailed endlessly, and the grains sifted through her fingers to the ground beneath her. A wooden statue of Andraste streaked past, and the sounds of the Chant of Light warbled through the cacophony. An amused smile crept across Valeria's face, as she wondered if that was her strange Templar dreaming. Her Templar, what an amusing thought. She could only imagine his stammering response. She softly chuckled to herself, and went to reach for another handful of sand, but found a coarse wooden floor beneath her hand. In her shock, she must have cried out, because she heard a young reassuring voice behind her.

"You don't have to be afraid, anymore. You are safe, now. Revered Mother Hannah is very nice. You'll see," the youth said, placing his hand on her shoulder gently. "Trust me. You can open your eyes. We aren't going hurt you."

Valeria hadn't realized they were shut, but they were, as tight as she could get them. Reluctantly, she took a deep breath, terrified at what she would see. ...And she saw a Chantry, bathed in warmth and golden light. Tears filled her eyes and she shook her head. "This... This can't be happening."

"It's going to be all right. It's hard for everyone at first, but you will get used to it. My parents left me here, too, but I suppose it isn't the same, is it?" Sadness filtered into his reassuring voice. She still had not turned to face him. This entire experience was a little unnerving. She stood and reached down to smooth her robes, instead of the slickness of the silk, she felt the grit of brine clinging to her clothes. It dawned on her then. She _knew_ these rags, and this Chantry. The Templars who found her, washed up on the Waking Sea coast, had brought her here. She wheeled around to face the young man knowing exactly what she would find, and there he stood in the purple and white Templar recruit tunic, the golden sun embroidered on his chest. His hair the same shock of tousled auburn, she remembered. His hand a gentle pressure on her arm. She pulled away from him, frantically, as if his touch had burned her.

"Cullen...? But.. How... Why would you bring me here? To remember this!?" Her mind was reeling. She had to regain some semblance of control.

The boy stepped back in alarm, his eyes wide in disbelief. "How do you know my name?"

"Cullen!" a harsh bark came from the back of the Chantry and a monstrous man with a thick mop of black hair came storming to the front, where they both stood, staring at each other dumbstruck. "I've told you not to talk to these witches." The large man's eyes swept over her with a hunger she was finally old enough to understand, burning in his fevered glare. "And I don't care how pretty they are." He lashed out at her, and she crumbled to the floor, blood dripping from her mouth. "And you, witch, keep your wickedness and filth away from my recruits. I don't need your sin rubbing off on them. They do the Maker's work."

"That is enough, Ser Herst! The Maker teaches kindness and mer..." The voice of the Revered Mother drifted away into blackness. Valeria's eyes snapped open and she reached for her mouth, still sore from the impact of Ser Herst's hand, the blood still wet on her cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ser Cullen_

Cullen awoke with the groggy haze of the Fade still clinging to his mind. He lazily stretched, and responsively issued a groan. The effects of yesterday's bout in the training room were starting to bear fruit.

"Ah, so you finally decided to join the land of the living, Cullen. You will be late for your post. The others wanted to wake you up, but, heh, by the sound of it, you were having quite a pleasant dream," Bran chuckled as he donned his armor. The color rose in Cullen's face, and he grumbled a non-committal response. "Heh-heh, I won't bother asking who this 'Val' is, and don't worry, your secrets are safe with me," Bran continued with a sly wink. With Bran's reputation, Cullen was, at best, skeptical.

Cullen let loose a heavy sigh, and began to put on his armor. That girl was becoming disruptive, but it wasn't her fault, exactly. Her nightly visits to the Chantry had ended months ago, and the Maker knew it was his own sin, his own burden to bear. Still, she had invaded his dreams, and nearly every waking hour was spent in some endeavor to be near her. This effort was much more difficult than would seem, the required subtly was maddening. Not to mention the fact that he deteriorated into a bumbling fool at the sight of her. He adjusted his armor, shaking his head in frustration.

At the dining hall the tables were half-filled with his Templar brothers.

"Quite a beating you handed out yesterday, Carroll, I didn't know you had it in you," Cullen said cheerfully taking a place across from the young man.

"If you didn't fight so much like my mother, I wouldn't have gone so easy on you, but what can I say, I'm sentimental," Carroll replied mischievously.

"Oh, sod it, Cullen! I had twenty silvers riding on that match, and you blew it all losing to that weird bastard," Beric added irritably.

"Now, wait a minute, I have a father... somewhere... I think," Carroll whined.

"He doesn't dispute your previous claim, does he, Beric, ha! So, you might not be a bastard, Carroll, but that's sure not going to get you any closer to the apprentice's knickers." Bran laughed, heartily chugging his lyrium. "Well, I must be off. I have a lot of important people to glare at." Bran adjusted his face into a mock frown, quickly breaking into an impish grin and a hearty chuckle. "By the way, Cullen, looks like you've got the apprentice library, today," he said, another sly wink before he left.

Cullen slammed the rest of his lyrium, before getting up to go find the roster. "Well, it breaks my hearts, boys, but duty calls. Beric, Carroll. Double or nothing at the training hall, tonight?"

"You'd better not waste my good silver tonight, Cullen. Or you will fighting me next," Beric replied moodily. He had been at the tower a year now, and had always had a fairly dark demeanor. Many of the other brothers avoided him, but Cullen would make playful jabs and try to lighten his mood. Over the time that Cullen had known him, he had improved only slightly, but progress is progress.

"You could always change your bet, Beric, but then you most assuredly will be wasting your coin. I won't fall for that same trick again, Carroll," Cullen said.

Carroll's face broke into a hearty grin, "Well, I'll just have to mix it up, then. Won't I, mum?"

Cullen walked away, his body humming gleefully in tune with the lyrium as it fed slowly into his bloodstream. He made his way to the roster. He could have sworn he was set to guard the main doors at the entrance. He scanned the roster, and found his name.

"Cullen:

Day: Threshold - North (crossed out)

Morning: Silent Steps -East

Nightfall: Harrowing Hall "

_Silent Steps? Who had added Silent Steps?_ Cullen wondered. He stopped and did a double take, when he saw the Harrowing Hall addition as well. An anxious sinking grew in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a fifty-pound weight. He had to seek out the Knight-Commander immediately. He had expected some sort of preparation for his first Harrowing, not an impromptu change on the roster. He quickly changed direction, mentally plotting a course for the Knight-Commander's office.

Cullen knocked on the door, more loudly than he had anticipated. His anxiety was getting the better of him, and he tried his best to rein it in. All the years of training at the Chantry had not prepared for this moment. The door swung open gently and he saw the First Enchanter in a heated conversation with the Knight-Commander.

"... ready, Greagior," the voice of the First Enchanter filtered thought the threshold.

"Are you so ready to throw your apprentice at the Harrowing, when there is such a great likelihood she could fail? She has only been here for seven, maybe eight years! Most apprentices are here ten or fifteen years before they attempt to undergo the Harrowing!" the Knight-Commander argued. His voice boomed and overwhelmed the First Enchanter's. Irving looked composed, an expression that lightly hinted at boredom, as if this was polite conversation over an afternoon tea.

"She has asked to be Harrowed, Greagior. Despite her youth, I think she is an excellent candidate."

"She doesn't know what she is asking for, Irving. You do. While she is your apprentice, I caution you to reconsider. Once we proceed there is no going back."

"I know this!" snapped the First Enchanter. The Knight-Commander regarded him warily. "I would not risk my brightest apprentice lightly, Greagior. Will you consent or not?"

The Knight-Commander heaved a weighty sigh. "Of course, Irving. I will approve Apprentice Amell's Harrowing for tonight. Although, I wish you would have heeded my words of caution. Maker turn his gaze upon this girl. Ser Cullen, you may approach."

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin. He had thought the two men too engrossed in their conversation to have noticed him lingering in the doorway.

"Y...yes, Knight Commander." He silently cursed his plate armor. "Uhh.. First Enchanter." He said awkwardly nodding at the old man.

"I believe my business here is concluded, Greagior. I will leave you to attend your young Templar. With your leave," First Enchanter Irving inclined his head and the Knight-Commander nodded. "Maker watch over you, Greagior."

"May he watch over us all." The First Enchanter left the room, the door clicked quietly behind him. The Knight-Commander sighed heavily again, shaking his head. Cullen never had seen him look so tired.

"Pull up a chair and sit, son." Cullen grabbed a chair and the Knight-Commander went to a table and poured two glasses of lyrium. The blue liquid shimmered with a light of its own accord, appearing as sweet fluid sapphires. Cullen took a small swig from the glass, rolling its fiery sweetness across his tongue, savoring it before swallowing it.

"As you had overheard," the Knight-Commander paused, seeming to take note of Cullen's guilty conscious plastered all over his face. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but he did, and so there it was. "There will be a Harrowing, tonight." The Knight-Commander took a deep draw on his glass, rejuvenating slightly.

"Yes, Knight-Commander. It was what I came to speak with you about. I noticed the change on the duty roster, and I... uhh... had some grievances, Knight-Commander, ser."

"Which were...?" the Knight-Commander said somewhat irritably. Cullen looked down at his boots.

"Nothing, ser. With your leave, I will just return to my post. I do not wish to disturb you further," Cullen said, guilt clinging to his words.

"You have my permission to speak freely, Cullen."

"Yes, thank you, Knight-Commander, ser. I had hoped for more notice for my first true Harrowing, ser. The Harrowing I had endured as a recruit had ... ended poorly. I wanted time to prepare myself with contemplation, ser."

The Knight-Commander thoughtfully sipped his lyrium before speaking. "That is not an unreasonable request, I think. However, it is one I cannot grant. At the moment, we are sorely undermanned. Her Holiness in Denerim finds it more important to shore up the defenses of her temple guard than to see our mages adequately defended." The Knight-Commander took another big swallow and refilled their cups. "As is her right, I suppose. It doesn't mean I have to agree with her." The Knight-Commander chuckled softly to his cup.

"I am afraid I digress. I'm getting as bad as Irving some days. Chantry politics were not what you came here to discuss. Now, the Harrowing. I have noticed you have a soft touch with the mages, Cullen."

Cullen's eyes grew wide with alarm. "No, ser. Not at all, ser. I... I am always vigilant." The Knight-Commander's eyes softened, and he smiled at the young Templar knowingly.

"It is because of this that I have chosen for you a special task at the Harrowing. It will be you who must strike the killing blow, if the girl turns."

"Yes... Yes, Knight-Commander, ser," Cullen said hollowly. It was his duty... And he would do it. _Even if it means... losing her? _A small voice whispered in his head. Cullen nodded solemnly in response.

The Knight-Commander must have seen the conflict in his expression, because his voice developed a grave tone. "This is not meant to be a punishment. It is your duty, and it is one that I would rather was not enjoyed, if you take my meaning. Your nature is why you were chosen, Cullen, and if it becomes necessary, I would rather the hand that strikes the blow, be the hand of mercy, not cruelty. We do the Maker's work, but it is not a labor of love. It is one of necessity."

Cullen took a long drink from his cup. He savored the taste, as he disseminated the Knight-Commander's words in his mind.

"I see much of myself in you, Cullen. Remember those words and remember your duty. May the Maker watch over you, my son. Be vigilant. You are dismissed."

* * *

_Valeria Amell_

_Uthenera. The Creators taught the old ones to shape the dreams and navigate the shifting forests of the Beyond. The halla paths that twist and guide, the numerous branches of the sacred tree. To see through the infinite eyes; this is the power of the dream-walkers of Arlathan._

Valeria's fingers kneaded her temples, trying to soothe away the painful storm brewing beneath. The elven habit of shrouding everything in frustrating religious allegory was beginning to take its toll. She looked over the edge of her book shooting a furtive glance at the Templar guarding the door, wondering whose eyes watched her so intently behind that helm. She had her suspicions, but she did not dare hope.

"Val... Who are you looking at?" came a quiet whisper from behind her. Startled, she looked quickly over her shoulder. Behind her stood her closest and most abiding friend, a worried frown knitting his brows. He was such anxious spirit, Jowan. Most of the time, his constant "personal crises" were a slight irritant. At the moment, she welcomed the distraction.

"No one in particular, Jowan. I've had about as much as I can really take with elven allegory today. That's all," Valeria whispered in reply. Jowan had moved across the table from her, the concern growing on his face.

"I don't know why the First Enchanter has you studying these arcane texts... It gives me a bad feeling," Jowan said, looking around the room suspiciously.

"Jowan, is something troubling you? You seem more... concerned than usual," she asked carefully.

"You can't be too careful. They are always watching," he whispered nervously, his eyes darting towards the Templar. "They would see us all a bunch of soulless husks..." Jowan's voice trailed off.

Valeria's eyes narrowed in concern. She had never seen Jowan quite so agitated before. _What in the Maker's name is going on here?_

* * *

_Ser Cullen_

He watched them closely, their heads together whispering. He had tried to tell himself that it was his imagination, but he knew he was just protecting his illusions... Delusions, really. He had seen the way her face had softened when she realized who stood behind her. That had spelled things out fairly simply. Jealousy tugged at his heart when she smiled sweetly at the nervous little weasel.

Her laughter sang softly over the crackling fire. He strained to overhear their conversation, and was surprised to hear her words.

"Jowan, not everything has to be a conspiracy. I do not know who decided the Templars were our adversaries, but they were fools," Amell whispered loudly.

"... Nothing inside those metal suits, but suspicion for me. I have to give up my freedom because..." Jowan whispered. He was much more cautious than the other apprentice, and kept looking over his shoulder shooting agitated looks at Cullen.

"You shouldn't be so quick to pass judgment on them. They are men like any others, some are gentle…" Valeria whispered softly. She locked eyes with Cullen's briefly. His heart began its familiar race.

"…others, can be cruel." She paused, her hand drifted up to her cheek. Her eyes darkened, and passion began to fill her voice. Cullen had never seen her like this before. It was such a stark contrast to her normal softness.

"If you somehow believe that mages are immune to this, then you are still very naive, Jowan. Imagine the power we have..." Fire erupted in her hand, and the little weasel backed away. A smile subconsciously spread across Cullen's face, and he was glad for his helm.

"Coupled with cruelty... the consequences could be extreme. We have just scratched the surface of our potential for destruction. You don't think this is something that should be protected?" The other apprentice mumbled a reply Cullen could not hear, and he watched Amell's face contort in anger.

"Don't you dare accuse me of that! There isn't a day that goes by that I wish I could be free from this place or that my heart wasn't constantly constrained by something I have no control over," Amell snapped, her small hands balled up into fists. Her last comment elicited a heated look towards the Templar. A lump grew in his throat, and he struggled to keep it under control. His ears were desperate for her words.

"Sometimes, Jowan… there are things that are bigger than a person's hopes and dreams. I learned a long time ago, that life calls every person to sacrifice," she added sadly. "Some more than others." With that Valeria Amell gathered her books and stalked out of the library. The two men stood alone in shock.


	3. Chapter 3

_I don't know if there are such things as dedications in fanfiction, but if there is, this one goes to my friend . who has become just as much a part of this story as I feel like I am. You have been an inspiration to work with!_

_Chapter 3: Will The Circle Be Unbroken_

* * *

_Valeria Amell_

Valeria approached the entrance to the foyer of the Harrowing Chamber breathless. It was an exhausting climb at a leisurely pace, no less at an unabated sprint desperately fighting for her life. The struggle proved all the more bitter, for her enemies wore the faces of friends, acquaintances, rivals. The years of petty squabbles seemed even more frivolous now.

_How could it have come to this?_ She had hated this gilded cage as much as the next mage, but could they not see how important this place was? Where else would a mage learn the delicate balance of controlling the natural world? So very much could go wrong... Of course, she wasn't foolish enough to think that treating all mages like heinous criminals was the proper solution. _Look how well it had worked out with Jowan._

_Oh, Jowan... Thank the Maker you weren't here to get mixed up in all of this._ Just thinking about him caused her mind to swirl in a mix of complicated emotions. The look on his face when her betrayal was exposed was enough to make her weep bitter tears. He had trusted her, and the very first thing she had done was run straight to the First Enchanter and sign his death warrant. Her intentions had been so different at the time. She had stormed into the First Enchanter's office in a fury when Jowan had told her news: Tranquility.

"Explain to me, Irving," Valeria's fists slammed down on the First Enchanter's desk, muted by the stack of vellum that scattered to the floor. "What could he possibly have done to deserve the Rite?"

"Calm yourself, child."

"Don't you 'child' me, Irving. I will get an explanation, and I will have it now!"

"There is ... evidence to prove that Jowan has engaged in practices forbidden by the Tower." The words crept into the sudden empty silence, their implications reverberating through the two mages. The First Enchanter folded his hands resting them on the edge of his desk, and his shoulders visibly slumped. At this moment, he was more than his title; he was also a man struggling to shoulder the burden of each mage's every action.

Valeria reeled in shock. _Oh, Maker, Jowan... You didn't... You couldn't have_. "F-forbidden, First Enchanter?"

"Yes, Enchanter Amell. Blood magic." Valeria's heart plummeted to the Deep Roads. She began shaking uncontrollably and the First Enchanter placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Please sit. I fear we should discuss this matter in greater detail." He led her to a chair and secured the door she had flung open in her fury. Finally, he came to sit across from her, nothing but the sound of her grief filling the room. He was forever lost to her, now.

"Now, tell me, Enchanter, how is it you came to know that the Rite was to be performed on Jowan?" The First Enchanter asked.

"He... he told me."

"No doubt his lover Lily had told him." Valeria was dumbfounded by shock. She nodded in reply. "Surely, you are not truly surprised, Enchanter. It was not long ago that I acknowledged your rather unorthodox nightly activities, and Jowan does not have near the talent for... subtlety." Despite the seriousness of the situation, Valeria chuckled softly through her tears, imagining Jowan's lame attempt at sneaking. The moment quickly passed and she began to relate their plan to the First Enchanter, her heart breaking with each word she spoke.

"It truly saddens me, but Jowan's fate is sealed. This is a truth of which you are no doubt aware now. However, there is a certain individual that I will not see go unpunished." Valeria simply nodded. There were no words left. "The Chantry will back her, and excuse her behavior to thralldom. I will not have it! If my apprentice is going to suffer, theirs will not be shielded by the Chantry. They will see the truth of what she has done. Perhaps, they might not be so quick to think their own so infallible." Spite dripped from his words. It seemed even the First Enchanter chafed under the hypocrisy of the Chantry.

"I must ask you to do a difficult thing, now, my dear, but it will be a great service to the Tower. You must go along with their plan. Seek out the phylactery chamber, assist in his escape, and I will meet you with a contingency of Templars when the time is right. There will be justice, at least this once," the First Enchanter whispered in the hush tones of conspiracy, his eyes glancing towards the door.

"Yes, First Enchanter. I... I understand what must be done." Valeria was having trouble reconciling the sharp pang of her guilt. Words like service, duty, greater good, all had a hollow ring and an even more bitter taste. _Life calls everyone to sacrifice, Jowan_, a cruel voice inside her mocked.

She had done as Irving asked, had followed along with their plan... Lily's plan... for she had known in her heart that Jowan could never have devised such a plan. It was too meticulous. Jowan didn't possess that kind of... Cunning. It was what made it so difficult to believe that he was a blood mage. She had underestimated Jowan. Everyone had.

"You led us into a trap?!" he cried as the First Enchanter revealed her as a conspirator. The betrayal in his eyes had wounded her, but he would never understand. His words still echoed in her mind, and his face haunted her. _Jowan... I'm sorry._

At least now he was safe, she hoped. The Templars could not hunt him with his phylactery destroyed, and he had been spared this... She hated to imagine what would have happened to him if he had stayed. He would have naively sided with Uldred and ended up some frightening abomination, and their years of friendship would not have stayed her hand. He would have been cut down like all the rest. Her heart heaved in her chest and she understood the heavy burden of responsibility that Cullen knew, and she did not relish in it. A realization that she only bitterly wished had come sooner.

"Would you have really struck me down?" Valeria whispered, playfully. His face grew serious, and he shifted uncomfortably. When he opened his mouth to reply, dread threaded its icy fingers through her spine. She instantly regretted teasing him, putting him on the spot, for the childish need to hear his stammered attempt at a response.

"I would have felt terrible about it, but I … serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded." As he spoke, he wouldn't look up at her, his eyes fixed on a blemish in the granite. She wanted the reassuring comfort of the protectiveness in his gaze, the safety of its embrace. She felt vulnerable, and this made her angry. At whom she could not determine, perhaps, both of them, him for tearing it away from her, and herself for... needing him.

The lines between her shock and anger began to blur in the silence between them. She had built up this elaborate, childish fantasy of his love for her, and he had butchered it with his bloody sense of _honor_, as surely as he would have her. _Can't you feel their blade at your neck?_ Mouse had whispered. She had laughed him off light-heartedly, but her hand had rubbed the back of her neck tellingly. And to think, it'd been his sword there all along, ready to cleave her head from her shoulders at the faintest shudder.

"You… you're just like the rest of them, aren't you? You would have killed me, and just wrote it off as another day's work! I am such… a fool!" She stared at the floor now, as well, her eyes tracing the intricate pattern the impurities made in the stonework. She felt his gaze envelope her, like a blanket does a refugee. Her relief was reflexive. The building pressure of her emotions deflated with an audible sigh. She hated herself for taking such comfort in it.

A gentle pressure closed around her wrist, and began to lead her down the hall. She half-heartedly resisted, but it only tightened his hold. They were in a storage room before he released her. Silence filled the cluttered room, and they held each other in their stares, both pleading, hers tinged with a weak anger, his with unspoken guilt. They had grown so accustomed to this unspoken communication that the silence was resistant to shatter. He was close, closer than was ever feasible before. She could almost feel the heat of his body radiating from him; she could hear his shallow breaths. It was the stuff of dreams, the ones that threatened to smother her with their beauty.

"You're wrong," his voice trembled. "I'm… not like my brothers." Cullen lightly grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "They would not be hesitant in their duty. I find it gets harder every day, today more difficult than any other."

"Cullen, I…" The whisper of his lips on her fingers choked off the words in her throat. He left her standing there staring at her hand, her pulse throbbing in her chest, a confusing warmth growing in the pit of her stomach. "... love you," she finished to the empty doorway.

His memory rolling around in the tempest of her mind brought the hand of fear to her throat, threatening to choke off the precious little air she gulped after. She had not seen him anywhere else in the Tower, and there was nowhere left but the Harrowing Chamber. The thought of him lying broken and empty somewhere in the Tower was an image that she desperately drove from her mind.

Her breath still came in short, staggered gasps, despite resting, and her companions long since recuperated from their mad dash through the Tower. She had all but been oblivious to them, as lost as she was in her own recollections. As the mindless adrenaline rush borne of the constant battles had finally subsided, the impact of the destruction began to unfold in her mind. It was difficult to see what had become of her home. Wynne seemed to understand; she had the same distant expression as her eyes scanned the room. It seemed so unfathomable. Leliana and Zevran were watching her, now, but her circumstance suspended her embarrassment at becoming a spectacle. She attempted to produce a reassuring smile, but at best delivered a weary one. They exchanged a look, and Zevran nodded retreating to the background. He amazed her sometimes how he seemed to blend in everywhere. _Yes, a dangerous looking elf in Antivan leathers, surely he belonged at the Circle of Magi._

Leliana approached her warily. "I am sorry, Val. You have seen many ghosts today."

"I have made more than you know," Valeria said. Leliana pulled her into a reassuring sisterly embrace.

"You do not need to blame yourself for Uldred's depravities. Surely you know this?" Leliana said firmly, tightening her embrace as if her sheer force of will could recover some morale in her beleaguered friend.

"Are we ready to move forward?" Wynne asked. "Irving and the others must have been taken to the Harrowing Chamber." Valeria nodded, a cold fear seizing her heart. Was it so terrible that she didn't want to see what lay beyond this door?

_Ser Cullen_

Her sultry voice seemed to have an echo where one should not be. "I can give you everything you desire. Just tell me, my sweet Templar. What have you always wanted? Luxury, recognition, love, perhaps? Ah, but who needs to be choosy, when you can have it all."

"Begone... Demon," Cullen rasped, his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

"Oh, my Templar, don't you see? There is so much that we can teach each other. We can be partners. You can show me how it is to feel alive, and you can know the true face of desire. I can make you happy."

"I will not fall to such petty tricks, foul demon. I cannot falter... You will not... have me."

"Your strength is waning, my pet. You will not be able to resist your _urges_ forever. I will return when you are more... Accepting of my terms." And with that the demon disappeared.

She had tormented him for days. Each day more horrendous than the last, twisting his memories against him. One day she wore his mother's face, and begged him to return home. Another it was the Knight-Commander's, offering promotions and declarations of praise. The demon wore the faces and spoke with the voices of all the people he had ever known, all save one. A name his mind would not dare utter, the sacred word that would be his undoing.

He had seen each one of his brothers fall to her guiles. She had ensorcelled them with her illusions and they turned on each other one by one. The fact that he was alive at all remained a mystery. However here he stayed, caged like an animal, when all of his brothers had perished.

The din of battle tore him from his thoughts and he pressed against the barrier wall of his cage. The Rite of Annulment must finally have arrived. Relief coursed through him, and he was mad with joy. This torture may soon be at its end.

After a lengthy silence, four figures stalked into the room. He realized in an instant that these were not his Templar brothers come to rescue him. His relief was shattered. _More games_.

One wore a mage's habit, her grey hair neatly pulled from her face, Senior Enchanter Wynne. Two others he could not recognize. They wore leathers, one a lithe elven man that seemed to emanate danger, and the other, a redhead, who wore a mask of innocence. .Bringing up the rear was a silhouette he could have recognized in a dense fog. She looked different somehow, violent. Her apparel, for starters, seemed to disagree strongly with his recollections. She wore a silverite light chain mail over a white tunic, and a familiar white cloak thrown over her shoulders. The length of her gate had changed with her posture, more assertive. He watched her carefully, noting every detail. The demon lies in the details.

She shouted his name as soon as she recognized him. He didn't respond, only watched her in silence. The relief that once bathed her face in happiness was erased by concern as she prodded the barrier curtain, her small hands pushing at it here and there. Her curiosity with the barrier grew quickly to frustration, and her hands gentle prodding became pounding fists that deteriorated into bloody palms pressed against his cage. She whispered his name. It sounded more like the hush of defeat when before it had been her battle cry.

Cullen coldly continued to record every detail He could see now she was spattered in blood, smeared across her face, her hair matted to her forehead with it. She was beautiful to behold, a goddess of destruction and death. Cullen struggled against the memories that were invading his mind, the memories that this vision railed so hard against. He desperately tried to choke them down, lock her away… protect her before they could corrupt her, just like they had everything else. But her soft serene beauty haunted him, and all the small things that had drawn him to her flooded his mind. It was the subtle hint of a smile that could have brought the Maker Himself to his knees, the way the flickering lights of the Chantry had danced on her lips as she prayed, and Maker's Breath, her skin… her face, the way it felt warm and soft against his rough hand, unworthy to touch her. The guilt, the doubt, and his frustration with her had consumed him for years, boiling over into obsession. She had shaken his beliefs to the core. How could the Maker have created something so beautiful, so pure, only to curse her? He had been angry at the Chantry, at the Maker, at his vows. For the life that they could never have together. For the family they had built only his dreams. He was at the point of retching. He had failed her, and now they would defile her, twist her like a knife in his side.

"If… anything in you is human, kill me… now. And end this game," he cried. She seemed to awaken to his voice, and she stared at him with worry in her eyes. The force with which her emotion could still affect him, felt akin to an arrow striking his chest, humming in his soul with a painful vibration. His resolution was faltering. He could not resist much longer, soon he could only beg for mercy.

"Cullen? You don't recognize me?" the illusion asked, the pain in her voice was unbearable to him.

"Only too well. How deep they must have delved into my thoughts. To tempt me with the one thing I wanted… but could never have," he cried out in anguish. "My ill-advised infatuation with her… A mage, of all things…"

"My, my someone was a heartbreaker during her apprentice days," the elf joked lewdly in a rich accent of origin he could not place. He saw her withering stare, and the elf cleared his throat uncomfortably, and disappeared to the background.

"He looks… They must have caged him for weeks, without food or water. I have my skin right here," the redhead said in sultry Orlesian tones.

"Stay back, Maker curse you!" Cullen shouted. "To think I once thought we were too hard on mages, but only they have… have this much power. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whispering of the demons. You will all pay for what you have done! Either by my hand or the Maker's." His fists pounded the barrier. One of Valeria's hands slid down the wall of the cage falling limply to her side. An imperceptible amount of time later, she gathered herself, and stepped back, eyes flashing with a quiet determination.

"Enough! Leave us," the illusion commanded. Cullen smiled knowingly at his tormentor. _The game begins in earnest now._

Wynne, protested. Mages were ahead and in desperate need of help. The poison in the vision's eyes put all arguments to rest. The Senior Enchanter retreated into the other room with a dry, "As you wish."

He and the illusion were alone. She poked and prodded the barrier further, looking for a sign of weakness.

She shook her head in frustration. It was amusing to watch the demon play act. There was no need for all of this. He was growing tired of fighting now. His brothers were all gone. There was nothing left of this place he once called home.

"Do not be alarmed," and with that the vision evaporated.

_Valeria Amell_

She walked the Fade, as the dreamers of old. She forced shape to the Void, and an ancient forest towered around her. She followed the path for a distance, glancing at the way-stones.

_Here._ Her will forced the door open and the stone shuddered in response. A mirror blinked into existence, the Eluvian. Cullen appeared in the reflection, and sorrow spasmed in her chest. He anxiously paced his cage like a lion in a menagerie. He was clearly delusional and in great need of healing. She became suddenly grateful for all those frantic lessons she had from Wynne when they tended the wounded together at Ostagar.

The nature of his cage piqued her interest now. She had never seen this kind of magic. Through the Eluvian she was awarded greater perception. It was a perception of a perception, but it was somehow a clearer lens. It didn't make any sense, but it was hard to rationalize a place that could fold reality in on itself, that could bring for substance from absence. All these were musings for another time, and she directed her attention back to solving the conundrum of his constraints. The barrier had been stitched from the very fabric of the Veil, and he was imprisoned, somewhere… within Veil itself, as if he was somehow neither within the Fade nor outside it. She wondered if she would be able to reach him, in this somewhere between life and death, awake and dreaming. Her hand touched the mirror, and a bright light engulfed her, sending shockwaves through the shimmering Fade.

She was inside the barrier, now, and Cullen had ceased his restless pacing, staring slack jawed at her. He looked so close to madness. Fatigue, pain, shock, all had etched new lines into his young face, and his eyes spoke of greater torment.

Cullen knew he had to pull himself together, but it was so difficult with her standing there. He had dreamed of her so… so many times since she left with that Grey Warden, remembering her innocence that was now corrupted into the instrument of his torture. Anger swelled inside him. He resolved himself to throw all his remaining strength at this to survive. If he was going to fall to this… illusion, he wanted to know he had honored his brothers by fighting to the last. "Keep your distance, Demon!"

An enormous emptiness grew in Valeria's stomach as Cullen's voice assaulted her. Memories of his shy smile whirled in her mind. He had been the only Templar who had treated her as a person, a friend, and not an abomination waiting to happen. _What had they done to him?_

"Cullen, I want to help you. You need to survive this. I've… lost so much, everything, all over again…" Her voice was soft and pleading, so realistic, so convincing.

Valeria continued to approach him. He stepped forward to meet her, conjuring what must be the last ounce of determination. She saw him raise his hand to strike her, and she surrounded him with paralysis.

"I didn't want to have to resort to this," the illusion spoke. He found himself completely unable to move, and mentally swore to murder this illusion with his bare hands when he had the first opportunity. Her small hands began working on the buckles of his armor, the pieces falling away and hitting the ground with a resonating clang. Soon he stood in nothing but his tunic and breeches. He felt the magic inside her tingle against his skin.

A soft blue glow emanated from Valeria's hands. She knew for her own safety she was going to have to disable him before she the effect of the paralysis wore off. She was surely running out of time, so she quickly ran her hands over his legs. She could feel the muscles in his thighs begin to clench as she touched him. Her stomach fluttered nervously. She had to hurry. She found the spot she was looking for.

"I'm sorry, Cullen," the illusion said. His control was wavering as her hands explored his body. _What was she doing? _Not a moment later, Cullen got his answer, as sparks shot from her fingertips and his legs fell out from under him. He collapsed into her arms, his legs spasming uncontrollably.

She held him as the electricity disabled him and gently guided him to the ground. She struggled against the urge to crumble into the protective comfort his nearness offered. Forget the hard-fought battle that loomed behind every doorway, the shattered perception of home, and just melt into the serenity of their embrace. How many times had she daydreamed of holding him like this and staring into his beautiful amber eyes, running her fingers tenderly through his tousled hair? But this wasn't right... This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. His eyes were sunken and bruised from lack of sleep and torture. His skin was pale, sickly, covered in bruises. His auburn curls heavy with perspiration, a result of his fever, no doubt. What had he ever done to deserve this? Everything she wanted in her life somehow became twisted and abused. The Maker had cursed her, and him with her.

She could not dwell on these thoughts. Cullen needed her now. Her healer's instincts began take hold, and she stilled the storm in her mind. Cold. Clinical. That was what he needed her to be.

Cullen stared into her face. Her arms felt real around him. The pain in her eyes tore into him, as it had the day he met her. The protective urge battled with his desire for her, and his hate for the mages that had done this to him... his home, family, and her memory.

Valeria laid the Templar down gently on the stone floor. He had seemed to calm significantly since she had first entered his makeshift cell. Her hands began to travel over his body again. She closed her eyes in concentration, and the reality of his broken form entered her mind as her magic delved deeper into his tissues.

_Four broken ribs... a bruised liver... Anemia. Anemia? He was bleeding?_ Her hands quickened their search looking everywhere for the wounds. _Internally... then._ She had been right about his desperate need for healing.

Her eyes were closed as her glowing hands touched every part of his body, exposing pain he had driven deep into his subconscious. She looked so beautiful in her concentration, a shimmer of perspiration building on her brow. His eyes moved over her body, as old emotions surfaced. Her mouth turned down slightly at the corners. Her lips looked so soft and inviting. A groan escaped his lips as she touched on something deep and painful within him. Her eyes snapped open, and they locked gazes.

"I... can't fight... anymore," Cullen whispered to her hoarsely. A rough hand caressed her cheek. Panic seized her. He had to hold on, just a little while more. She could save him. She desperately clung to the calm place inside her, but it slowly slipped away. The tighter she grasped at it, the faster it seemed to dissolve.

"No, no, n-no, no, Cullen... no. Help is here. Stay with me, Cullen, stay with me," she pleaded. His face was in her hands, his skin slick with sweat, and his fever burned with an intensity that threatened to consume them both. His pulse was weakening and his breathing became deep rattling sighs in her ear with no concern for their natural cadence. It was becoming frighteningly apparent that he could die at any moment. You can't give up, now."

Cullen's laughter was coarse to his own ears. "Give up? No, no my sweet illusion. This is giving in… to days of torment, and years of longing." He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her towards him roughly, kissing her with a savage longing, growling into her ear. "Now, I want to hear you say all those things you never would."

Her heart seemed to slam against her rib cage. Her hands were suddenly trembling and weak. It was difficult to hear him speak to her with such longing and intimacy in his fevered delusions. She opened her mouth to respond, but found only silence. She was trapped by her mind's fumbling inadequacy to give voice to the feelings that roiled within her chest.

"I wish... I wish I could, Cullen. Just... rest now. They can't hurt you anymore," she whispered, her tears like cool rain on his cheeks as the darkness pulled him under.

Valeria watched his chest rise and fall with ragged breaths. It was a wonder that he had survived given the extent of his injuries. She went back to her work, her magic delving into his body desperately searching for the deep trauma. Images poured into her mind, as she found the pooling blood beneath his brutally damaged internal organs. She focused her will to a razor's edge, instructing his tissues to repair themselves, stem his bleeding, ossify the blood surrounding his fractured bones, produce new blood cells from his red marrow. All things his body would have taken months to do, she advanced in a matter of minutes. Finally, she could feel stability in his pulse, and the smooth rhythm of his breathing. He was safe, for now, but Uldred loomed ominously in her mind. She stumbled through the Fade, forcing her way to her companions' side before collapsing to the floor. Wynne's face flickered before her eyes, as succumbed to the dizzying exhaustion that clawed at her.

_Valeria Amell_

She felt the fiery sweetness of the lyrium burning against her lips. Her eyes fluttered weakly open, and Wynne's face blurred slowly into focus. By the looks of it, an internal battle was being waged between concern and irritation.

"That was a dangerous risk, Warden," Wynne said slowly. "Your responsibility, as a Grey Warden and a Circle Mage, is to see the First Enchanter out of this danger. You could have returned for the boy once you had done your duty."

"No, Wynne. I could not have," Valeria replied weakly. Her hand emitted a faint blue glow, and she laid it gently on the old mage's shoulder. A considerably brighter glow replied in kind from Wynne. The images Valeria had taken from Cullen's body during his healing slowly filtered through her mind, and Wynne's face grew more and more disturbed as she received them from her.

"I apologize, Warden. I was unaware of the extent of his injuries. His resiliency is… remarkable." Wynne shook her head sadly. "There is nothing worth this sacrifice…"

"Pardon me, my Warden. While, you are truly a vision as you sleep, we must consider that our chances of survival diminish greatly if you were to remain in such a state of repose for very much longer," Zevran said, glancing over at her. He was casually leaning against the wall using a dagger to clean beneath his nails. She chuckled weakly. It was his very greatest talent to look bored wherever he was.

Leliana gave the elf a sidelong glance, and rolled her eyes. "Zevran, our poor Warden has exhausted herself saving the man she loves. Surely such an act of devotion should be rewarded with a small respite, no?" Valeria thought she saw Zevran's eyes narrow, just for an instant, before he resumed his standard expression of amiable disregard. Leliana laughed gently, seemingly, at the deep bloom of embarrassment that colored the Warden's cheeks. Valeria was quickly growing uncomfortable with the nature of this banter. Leave it to Leliana to develop some impossibly romantic tale from actions borne of necessity. Sure, she had probably exceeded expected lengths that you would go to save a stranger, but Cullen was no stranger. He was... her friend, a longtime friend. She did her best to ignore the anxious flutter building in her chest, and the quiet mocking laughter whispering in her mind. _Yes, yes, of course. Friends_.

"No, Leliana, Zevran is right. There is much work that needs to be done to restore order to the Tower. Until that is done, we are in grave danger. Wynne, how are we doing on lyrium potions?" Valeria said, quickly taking control of the situation. There was no time to entertain such ridiculous ideas. She quaffed the potion Wynne had handed her in seconds, and the warmth spread throughout her body.

The anxious flutter had not subsided as they entered the foyer again. Cullen stood in the middle of his cage. He had donned his armor again

Valeria watched him carefully as she closed the distance between them. It was obvious that her healing had a significant impact on his health. The darkness in the hollows of his eyes, while not completely erased, had diminished substantially, and his eyes, themselves, did not speak of wild delusion. Anger, rage, contempt, perhaps, but not delusion.

"You... Why have you returned?" Cullen's voice dripped with venom. It was difficult for Valeria to hide how his tone wounded her.

"This is my home."

"As it was mine!" Cullen's voice boomed. "Look what Uldred has done to it. Everyone I cared for is now dead! I'm all that's left."

_Everyone he cares for..._ She must have winced visibly under the sting of his verbal assault, because a reassuring hand appeared on her shoulder. "_Tener fuerza_. Be strong, my dear Warden," Zevran whispered in her ear. She glanced over her shoulder, offering him her best attempt at a smile for his kindness, their faces mere inches apart. She heard Cullen stiffen audibly at the elf's proximity to her, and Zevran's yellow eyes illuminated with a wicked gleam as he sidled up beside her. He crossed his arms assuming his customary contrapposto, a smug smirk playing across his mouth. Despite the childishness in its execution, she was felt slightly bolstered by the elf's support.

"Uldred will pay. Of that fact, you can rest assured," Valeria replied. She could feel her magic awaken and thrum throughout her as her rage stoked slowly inside her. Cullen seemed aware of it, too, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously in response.

"Where is the First Enchanter?" Wynne demanded suddenly. "Where are the other mages? Some must have resisted Uldred."

"Some did, yes. They were taken to the Harrowing Chamber. Oh, Maker, the sounds coming from that place." Cullen shuddered visibly at the memory. "They are all dead, if the Maker was merciful. Or they were turned."

"They aren't defenseless," Valeria said to herself, deep in thought, weighing the likelihood of their survival. Even to her, it seemed a slim chance. Regardless, she could not entertain the thought of abandoning the First Enchanter.

"You weren't here! You don't know how they tortured us! They caged us like animals. I watched all my brothers fall! Good men! Those filthy mages, with their fingers snaking into your mind, they will do anything to break you. They all deserve to die."

"Cullen, I'm not making a decision until I see for myself what is happening. You can't expect me to condemn innocents to death, sight unseen?" Valeria retorted. His newfound hatred for all mages was beginning to wear thin her patience. She struggled to find the balance between the sympathy her affection for him evoked, and the irritation generated by the constant assault of his hostile disposition.

"You can't tell a maleficarum by sight!" Cullen protested. "To ensure this horror has ended, this tower must be purged."

"I've made my decision, Cullen."

"May the Maker turn his gaze on you, Amell. I hope your compassion has not doomed us all," Cullen said, stalking over to the edge of the cage, as they made their way to the Harrowing Chamber, his eyes boring holes into her back with his utter contempt.

"Perhaps, you should consider yourself grateful for her compassion, Templar," Zevran hissed, his rich voice low and dangerous. "Myself? I would have left you for dead."

She couldn't help the sinking of her heart when Cullen had said her name, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. A soft tremble shuddered through her. In his eyes, she saw a chasm open between them, filled with all the ways the world defined them. There, who they were ceased to be, replaced only by what. She knew this was all he saw when he looked at her, just like the other Templars. Everything between them was different, now. His cold stare said all there was to say. He wasn't Cullen and she wasn't Valeria, anymore. He was a Templar and she was just another mage, two opposing forces, bound up in hatred and fear. For this, she knew exactly at whose feet blame could be laid, and he had nowhere else to run.

The door to the Harrowing Chamber flew open with a gust of wind. Uldred glanced towards the door, a brief shimmer of shock drifted across his face before it was schooled back into an expression of condescension, returning his attention to a young mage he was torturing. The young man's body racked in pain, and his screams echoed disturbingly through the chamber. "Do you accept my gift?" Tears streamed down the young man's face, sobbing pitifully in his torment, and he slowly nodded. His body collapsed and convulsed on the floor as Uldred's foul magic consumed and contorted the young mage. When he rose, he was barely recognizable as a human.

Valeria approached Uldred with focused determination, Zevran sticking close to her heels. His golden eyes repeatedly scanned the room, assessing threats. At the sight of Uldred, Valeria heard the soft rasp of his daggers leave their leather sheaths. She was of a fortunate few who had heard this song and lived. Sparks flashed on her fingertips for an instant, and they exchanged a brief nod. This was all their talk of strategy.

"Uldred!" Valeria shouted, and slammed her staff on the ground. The windows and skylights of the Harrowing Chamber blew back forcefully under the whipping gales. The darkness of night seemed to encroach further into the room. Uldred's eyes lazily drifted over to her, a bemused and arrogant smile spread sickeningly across his face at her audacious display. Valeria watched him carefully, reading his reaction.

"My, my, my, if it is not Irving's star pupil. Uldred didn't think much of you then, and myself, I certainly don't see the appeal, now," the abomination said smugly. "I'm quite surprised you have survived. Unfortunately that must mean you killed my servants." The demon waved Uldred's hand dismissively. "Ah, well it is better they died in the service of their betters than struggle with the terrible responsibility of their independence."

"It soon will not be a concern of yours either," Zevran sneered dangerously, and Valeria's mouth twitched into a small smirk.

"Wait, wait, wait. We are trying to have a civilized conversation, here," the abomination said swiftly.

"I'm afraid, Uldred, that there is nothing to discuss. I am here for one thing, and one thing only, the satisfaction of spitting on your corpse," Valeria replied, violence soaking through the calm in her voice. She could hear Zevran's throaty chuckle and Leliana's quiet gasp. Wynne remained silent, staring silently at the First Enchanter huddled off to the side.

"Resistance! Everywhere I go. Resistance! Fine, you will serve me, willingly or not. Your friends, however, they will die here." Uldred shouted, and his body contorted into the monstrous form of the Pride demon. The room erupted into the finely tuned chaos of battle.

Valeria dashed into the thick of things, unleashing the full brunt of her power. Uldred's abominations were thrown to the ground by the shockwaves of the mind blast. She made a quick glance at the stars above, her mind racing through calculations and she slammed her staff into the stone floor of the Tower. The wind whipped, and the tempest gathered slowly around them. Zevran was a flurry of violence, disappearing and reappearing suddenly in the darkness of the storm, weaving between the strikes of lightning that left the lesser abominations little more than smoldering ruins. Attention was now solely focused on Uldred. Leliana had discarded her bow for the stunning dance of her whirling daggers. Valeria focused her will, conducting the battle through the tempest that raged around them. The winds, the rain, the lightning all bent to the strength of her dominion. The tide of the battle began to turn as she felt the strength of the demon within in Uldred begin to falter. Pouring the last of strength she summoned a massive bolt of lightning down on it. A blinding flash filled the room, and when their eyesight adjusted, the demonic form of Uldred had retreated, leaving the fragile mortal vessel.

Valeria quickly closed the gap between herself and Zevran, the heels of her riding boots the only sound ringing through the Chamber. He regarded her with an expression of amused curiosity for a moment as she approached, his head tilted slightly to one side, until she finally reached him. In silence, she divested him of the digger hidden at this thigh, and stalked off towards Uldred who was restrained by Leliana. Without a word she plugged the dagger deep into Uldred's throat.

"There is a great weakness in pride," Valeria whispered darkly. Uldred gurgled a response, drowning in his lifeblood. "Never underestimate your adversaries." She wrenched the small dagger to the left opening his throat, the warmth of his arterial blood showering her face, and he collapsed to the floor, an empty form devoid of life.


End file.
